


Nightclub encounter

by ML Mead (moonlightmead)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4000669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightmead/pseuds/ML%20Mead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's early in their professional relationship, they're a long way from London, they split up to find some entertainment... and then later that night, they re-encounter each other...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightclub encounter

Kicking their heels in Manchester, with Cowley's budget as usual allowing for little more than a twin room with bog down the corridor, each of them needing to let off pressure, they had gone their separate ways one night: Doyle 'to see a film', and Bodie to 'look up an old friend'. Excuses made and barely listened to, each eager to fulfil more specific needs, they had departed, only for their eyes to meet, shocked, in a dubious club, later that night. Doyle had been pressed up against a powerfully built man with hair so dark as to be black in the meagre illumination. He'd chosen the dark corner with care. Have to take a small chance, he thought, but no point in increasing it. It was the kind of corner they'd look for on a job: first place to check for trouble lurking if they were arriving, obvious place to slouch in unremarked upon if they were waiting for someone else to arrive. Easy to overlook and difficult to penetrate.

In retrospect, he should have known whose eyes were on him the moment the back of his neck began to prickle. He shouldn't have needed to tear his lips away from those of his paramour and to rub his mouth dry as he turned his head. He should have known it was Bodie. Bodie's eyes seeking out the same vantage points on arrival that he had, Bodie's features freezing for a split second in genuine shock and – was that anger? why anger? – before rearranging into rueful amusement and resignation. There was a pause, then Bodie tugged on the arm of a – yes, that was a companion, they'd obviously arrived together: tall, lean, hair short back and sides. Police, military, something like that then. The companion allowed himself to be propelled into Bodie's body space where Bodie could stretch a proprietorial arm around him. He turned and nuzzled Bodie, face buried in the side of Bodie's neck and bold hand visibly cupping Bodie's crotch. Bodie held Doyle's eyes, all amusement blanked, and brought a hand round to mirror his companion's actions deliberately.

Christ. Bodie with his hands in some guy's groin. Not just at his groin, but clearly palming his cock through the fabric. Bodie was as bent as he was. Doyle's cock was already straining in his jeans, but now it felt as though it had doubled in size. Doyle's partner was stirring now, missing his attentions. "Rob?" he questioned, and Doyle, hearing his alias, tightened his grasp. Then, deliberately, he brought his hands up to cradle the man's head, slumped slightly sideways so that Bodie could see them both, and plunged his mouth hard against his temporary partner's. He wasn't usually that fussed about kissing by now – he was on heat and he wanted to fuck, damn it – but his lips dragged over the man's skin, his hands held his jaw in an inescapable grasp and gently urged the other man's mouth to open, and then his tongue was inside again, exploring the man's mouth, lapping at surfaces, curling through the moisture. The other man started to withdraw, and Doyle tightened his grip, exulting. Mine, came his thought. _I_ choose. He held the strength of the other guy for a long second, his body pressed tightly against him, grinding against him, and then pulled back. With his left hand, he deliberately wiped off the trail of saliva descending from the corner of his mouth and turned, not lowering his hand, to catch Bodie's gaze again. Slowly, he licked his lips, tongue catching the last strands.

Bodie stood there still, arrested in his movements, his eyes sucking the view in, focussed on the dark corner no-one else had looked at. His companion was looking at him, puzzled, but making no move to pull him away or to exert some sway over him.

Doyle could feel his partner starting to stir again, aware of the change in his regard. Bodie's gaze suddenly lightened, and he telegraphed with a faint nod of his head. The same nod he gave to signal that Doyle was about to invoke the wrath of Cowley in a tedious briefing, or that a gap in the traffic was opening up. _Pay attention_. At the same time, he gathered his lean friend closer towards him, whispered into his ear, and gestured towards the other side of the bar before steering him in that direction. The final glance back to Doyle was full of predatory intent. Doyle drank it in, reflecting it. _So. That's how it is. Maybe there's a chance_. He looked back at the man he was with – Tom, he remembered vaguely. Big, strong biceps, trousers too tight for decency in the crotch, oh yes, he knew exactly why this one was turning him on. He knew exactly who the man resembled.

"You with me, Rob? You look like you..."

He released his hold on the side of Tom's neck, belatedly aware of it, the colour rushing back to the spots he had drained with his pressure.

"Sorry. Overexcited."

"So I see." Tom didn't sound too perturbed. "And feel." A thrust forward and Doyle stifled a groan. He'd be coming within seconds at this rate. "You wanna take this elsewhere?"

"Fuck, yeah."

"Fancy some air?"

_Outside?_

"Bit risky, innit?"

"Safe enough." Tom's voice was level. "I'm not stupid. I've got as much to lose as you. This club, for a start. Don't want to see it close down. It's got a delivery yard at the back. Safe as anything is. And a fire door."

Doyle recognised the voice of experience.

"Oh yeah? Let's go and find some deliveries, then."

 

Tom had been right. The fire door opened with the ease of regular use. Tom paused. "We going back in, you think?"

Doyle raised his hand and tilted it forward and back in a maybe gesture. Tom deftly dropped an only too convenient plank into the door way to prevent it shutting. The music and heat pushed out through the crack. Doyle ahh'd and looked expectant. Tom glanced at the space under a fire escape which descended from the upper floors. "Enough room for you?" Doyle took a second to appraise it and nodded – in truth, he'd have taken the space afforded by a rabbit hole by now. He sauntered towards it. Back towards the wall, he thrust his hands to his jeans.

"Get over here."

Tom laughed and was with him in seconds, pushing Doyle's hands aside and burrowing his hands beneath the waistband. "Christ, you wear these tight. No room at all." Deftly he reached to unzip Doyle, who jutted his hips forward obligingly with a ghost of a laugh. Doyle in turn reached round Tom to feel the contours of his back and arse, spreading his fingers wide as they smoothed over the hard muscle. God, he'd got a good one here, could almost be Bodie. Mmm. Bodie, yeah. And wasn't that a turn-up for the books? Bodie, large as life and twice as natural, in the same men's club. Again, he ran his fingers up and down Tom's torso, this time squirming under the trousers to grasp as much as he could. Oh, fuck, yeah, wonder if Bodie would feel like that. Sharply, he pulled Tom towards him, to grind their groins together, almost forgetting that Tom's fingers were between them. Tom yanked his hands back to cover his own zip – very considerate – before it could graze Doyle anywhere, and then used the opportunity to unslip the button and undo the zip, his cock immediately pushing forward and pulling the fabric of his pants with it. He groaned.

Doyle laughed. "All tangled, eh?" He made no offer to help, just used his hands to grind Tom against him again.

"Hrm. Yeah." Tom was mumbling. "P'raps I should do the same as you... " He had discovered Doyle's lack of further clothing. "Has its advantages..." he continued as he turned his hands back onto Doyle, fingers now probing down to the root of Doyle's penis, one hand circling the shaft and the other reaching down to find his balls. Doyle's breath caught in his throat. 

"So... what you after, Rob?" Confident fingers ringed his cock and began a gentle glide. Mmm. "More of the same? Blowjob? Or you want to fuck?" It was hard to think, with those hands pulling such pleasure from him. Fuck... he'd come here to fuck. Come here to fuck his passions out while fantasising about a partner he could never have. But, Jesus, apparently he'd missed a trick or two. It might not be so impossible as he thought. Bodie didn't have the appearance of someone accidentally wandering into the local gay club and looking shocked: that shock had been on seeing Doyle there. Damn, it was hard to think, with Tom's hands dealing expertly with his arousal. Nor did Bodie look like it was a chance experiment. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Mind, Bodie always looked like he knew what he was doing. And fuck, Tom, certainly did. He was starting to reel. Got an expert here. Bet he's greased up and ready to go. Like that guy on Bodie's shoulder tonight, just waiting for Bodie to press into him. Oh, god, yeah.

And, just like that, he knew what he wanted.

"Fuck," he managed as Tom upped the stakes by pushing his hand round to Doyle's backside, asserting his way down. Doyle shifted his stance, wriggling, to help Tom's hand. "Didn't come here for it..." he added, "But if you've got something to, ah, smooth the way, you can..." He tailed off, still stunned that he was changing his mind this late at night. But fuck, the thought of Bodie screwing somewhere in this club – perhaps out here in half an hour, or maybe too jittery and hurried to wait – Jesus, Bodie pulling some other guy into a cubicle, his cool assurance in tatters and too hurried to find somewhere more dignified, he could see that, he could feel it, he _wanted_ to feel it...

"I can? What? Fuck you?" Tom was hissing in his ear by now. Doyle nodded, jerkily. Shut up. You feel right. You look right. But you don't sound right. Bodie wouldn't have to ask. Bodie would know what he meant and what he wanted.

Tom scrabbled in a pocket and produced a crumpled tube. Doyle nodded his assent, and pushed his hips forward, leaving space for Tom to slap lubricant of some description down the crack of his arse, slipping and sliding his way down to the opening. A probing finger, urgent. Doyle pushed abruptly, providing a pointer to his partner on where to go.

"Mmm. Christ, yes. I've got it. There."

The finger withdrew to collect another daubing, and returned to press its way in. _If this were Bodie..._ Doyle's eyes closed to half-slits. He couldn't let himself drop his guard in the gloom, no closing completely, but by letting his gaze relax and rove over Tom's shoulders to focus on the shadows, Tom himself faded into a blur, leaving only dark, dark hair, and strong taut muscles. The hand reached again, smearing him expertly, before returning to coat the waiting cock. Doyle dropped his shuttered gaze down. Oh fuck, yeah.

Belatedly, he turned, resting his forearms on the underneath of the metal fire escape and tucking his head onto them. He felt the warmth behind him moving closer, one hand down, probing at his arse, the other grabbing his shoulder and gripping tightly. As soon as he felt the other's penis push through into his arse, he pushed back himself. Ahhh. This could be Bodie. Perhaps one day. Perhaps Bodie was even now doing this in the club, braced against the chipboard of a wall, or perhaps he and his friend for a night had headed onward to somewhere else, where they could fuck in the comfort of a bed. Bodie's friend hadn't looked like he necessarily needed a bed, though: perhaps this alley, this metal staircase with its rhythmic jerks as the combined weight of the two men hit into it, would be what they sought.

A grunt from behind brought him back to himself, and the pulsing pressure on him and in him. Harshly, he pushed back. His partner laughed. "Hang on, mate, I'll get you there." A hand snaked round to his genitals, the other moving from his shoulder to go right across his chest. He was being expertly toyed with, his cock hard and jutting, imagining a similar cock inside him, hard, jutting, and rubbing on the surfaces inside. Christ, this man was good. He was holding off, changing angles, clearly looking to find – ah. _That_. Small lights scattered over the inside of his closed eyelids. And there, again. Wow. The lights flickered again. And – shit, again, and the lights burst like fireworks as something exploded inside him and his own cock spat damply into the dark. He half groaned, half sighed, his first sound of the encounter, knowing that his partner, his hand so firmly wrapped around him and his cock so tightly pressed inside him, was aware of his release. In less than a minute, his lover was coming himself.

The man pulled out as Doyle continued to rest his head on his forearms, folded on the back of the fire escape. Having fumbled for some tissues, he passed some to Doyle.

"There you go, mate. Can't imagine you've got much hiding in your pockets in those jeans."

Doyle took it silently, wiping his penis off but ignoring the seeping sensation from his rear. Stepping far enough from the steps to stand straight, he pulled his jeans back up without concern. "Ta."

Tom looked at him. "Buy you a drink?"

 _A drink. In there. Where Bodie is._ Doyle seriously considered it, but shook his head reluctantly. "Early start back tomorrow." The half-truth came easily to his lips. 

"Didn't think you were local," agreed Tom. "I'd remember you."

A lazy half-smile. "Flattered to hear it. I think."

"Hmm. You come by this way often?" Hopeful, but not pressing.

Doyle shook his head, all surface regret, surprised to find himself regretting it inside too. "Only when the boss wants something picked up." Too late he registered the double meaning, but his companion ignored it.

"Pity." Sincerity. "Any idea when you'll be back next?"

Doyle shook his head. "But at least I know where to come if I am." True enough.

Tom accepted that with good grace. "Well, if you are and you do..."

Doyle nodded. "Yeah. I'll keep an eye out."

"Do that." Tom turned towards the door and pulled the wedge out. "Since we're not going back in." He slotted it neatly to the side. Doyle could see now that it was clearly kept handy by grateful patrons.

"I'll walk you back to the main road. You can find your digs from there, I take it."

Doyle nodded. "Ta."

 

Arriving back at the guesthouse, Doyle was surprised to find it was still barely past eleven. No hope of running a bath or attempting to use what passed for a shower in the bathtub in the facilities down the corridor, but he decided to chance the manager's wrath and ran copious water into the room's sink, cleaning himself efficiently and sponging down the seat of his jeans.

And then he threw himself onto his bed and waited.

 

The door opened softly, and Doyle's contented drowsings flew from him, leaving him alert.

"Doyle?" Bodie's voice was soft.

"Who else?" Doyle stretched carefully, rolled himself rapidly into a seated position, and flicked the switch on his bedside lamp. He pulled his legs up and sat, cross-legged, elbows on knees and hands not quite clasping. His body unmoving, his eyes darted to watch Bodie move.

Bodie shut the door and paused. "Yeah. Thought so."

"Thought what?" Doyle, ever alert to an insult.

Bodie's lip curled as he sauntered to the basin, examined his appearance – casual, replete, sinful – and began to divest himself of his clothes of the evening, rolling them neatly into cylinders and stowing them into his case.

"Not what you're wondering, don't panic. That was as much a surprise to me as to you."

Doyle accepted that. In truth, he hadn't expected a claim of Bodie having "wondered about him" before, or "always suspected". As far as he was concerned, Bodie's behaviour had been always that of a straight man horsing about. The idea that he'd have behaved like that in the corridors of CI5 if he'd thought that Doyle might be receptive to such overtures was nonsensical.

"Thought you'd be waiting. Probably want to talk, knowing you."

Doyle's back straightened. "Oh yeah, too right." He heard his voice and lowered it: this was not the night to provoke the landlord into unexpected entrance to complain about the noise. Consciously, he relaxed. "But maybe tomorrow, eh? Presume you're not packing to make a sharp exit in ten minutes, anyway."

Bodie glanced up at Doyle from his packing and grinned. "Nah. Bit pointless, that. Still got a job to finish tomorrow. And anyway..." he stood up and stretched, "I need my beauty sleep. Shagged out, I am."

Doyle watched Bodie's stretch avidly. His t-shirt rode up as he raised his arms and arched his back, exposing the faint touches of hair running down to his Y-fronts and up towards his sternum, vanishing under the t-shirt. That thin scar Doyle had seen before and wondered about was invisible in the dim light, but Doyle could still see dampness along his shoulders. As Bodie pulled off his pants, Doyle watched, lifting his eyes to Bodie insolently when Bodie flicked a glance at him. Bodie said nothing, didn't turn away, didn't turn to him, but didn't cover himself from view and didn't hurry. _Seen something you like?_ he seemed to be suggesting. _Enjoying the view?_

Doyle stretched himself, aware of the dim light catching the planes of his skin, before shifting slightly to pull the covers from beneath himself and to slither under them in one long move. He wriggled his way under and turned to lie on his side, head held on one propped hand.

"Hmm."

Bodie didn't respond, but padded over to the light cord hanging from the ceiling. "Light out?" he asked.

"Yeah."

The light winked out and darkness descended. Doyle listened to Bodie returning and sliding into bed. In the dark, his mind considered what he had seen, what he had done, what he had felt over the course of the evening. It had been a good night, all told. And it looked like future nights – especially nights far from London – might be better by far.

His mind filled by what-might-bes and what-might-comes, Doyle slept.

 


End file.
